Abecedarian

By Christina M Scott

photo by Engin Akyur on Pexels

At night, she feels for the invisible restraints clutching her throat.
Bound by circumstance, she’s unable to freely breathe.
Coveting the blade in her hands,
Death is her fateful companion.
Everyone dies alone.
Forgotten memories of better moments dance at the edge of her mind.
Guilt has set up home here in her thoughts,
Has taken up so so  much space, with no intent to leave.
Inescapable shock paralyzes and pervades her fleshy shell to
Just below her rib-cage, where a heart should be.
Kindness is a character strength – until it isn’t.
Loyalty leaves her open and exposed.
Menial tasks make up her day and
No one asks “Why the long sleeves?”
Open wounds wrap around her arms like windows,
Peel back the curtains to reveal a sense of safety in her soft tissues.
“Quit crying,” They said. So she did,
Replacing salty tears with subtle self-injury,
Saving her skin in a baptism of blades.
They let her live in the
Uncomfortable silence because of their own uncertainty,
Vowing never to allow their own flaws to surface.
Written in blood, she reads her arms like braille.
Xenophobic screams stifle her own voice.
“You can’t exist outside of perfection,” they politely condemn her.
Zealots have the loudest voices.

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